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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 








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K I N 

AND OTHER POEMS 

1 

By WILE FAY 



WILLIAM F. FAY : Publisher 

21 1 - 222 Fort Washington Ave., New York City 

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3 


COPYRIGHT 1923 
BY 

WILLIAM F, FAY 


OCT 27 1923 


Printed by Peter G. Boyle, 267-275 W. 17th St., N. Y. City 


©C1A759597 

^PLe>, f) 


/ 




To 

Lee Buchanan Fay 
This Book Is 
Lovingly Dedicated 


CONTENTS 


Kin . 7 

Teddy . 8 

A Memory. 9 

The Real Thing. 10-11 

Back Yonder.12-13 

Wrong Pew. 14 

Incurable . 15 

A Plea. 16 

Rest. 17 

Snarlyosities . 18 

The Winner. 19 

The Recall. 20 

Rejected. 21 

The Booking Agency. 22-23 

Why Lament. 24 

Turn Out The Guard!.25-26-27 

Near Luvain.28-29 

Indispensable .30-31 

The Birth Of A Poet. 32 

Have You Lived?. 33 

Call A Halt!. 34 

Just A Kiss. 35 

My Nodland Lass. 36 

The Limit. 37 

When You’re Thru. 38 

Bliss Denied. 39 

Shameless Flirtation. 40 

The Lookout .41-42 

In There.43-44 

Nika-Cumtux . 45 

On Guard, Americans!. 46 

What Is Love.47-48 

Nonplussed . 49 

Mary . 50 

When Father Was Fired. 51 

Out In Front.52-53 

Have U Ever?.54-55 







































CONTENTS —Continued 

Alone . 56 

Multum In Parvo. 57 

Love’s Victory .58-59 

Bygones.60-61 

Thinking Of You. 62 

Ahead O’ Hoover. 63 

“Damn Yankees”.64-65 

The Titanic. 66 

Just Dirt.67-68 

The Negative Man. 69 

To Your Photo. 70 

The Tired Business Man.71-72 

Father’s Pipe.73-74 

Change Of Heart. 75 

Fly In The Ointment. 76 

No Doctor .77-78 

A Glutton For Gloom.79-80 

After Supper. 81 

Anonymous . 82 

Why They Split.83-84 

’Twas Ever Thus. 85 

Action .86-87 

Seems Odd. 88 

Call A Halt!. 89 

What’s In A Name.90-91 

SlMILIA SlMILIBUS . 92 
































4 


\ 








KIN 


Someone said that plants and flowers have souls, like you 
and me. 

And that is true if truth was ever told. 

I believe it, for I listen when a hummingbird or bee 
Asks the flowers for their store of liquid gold. 

Why, I’ve seen a slender willow standing on a streamlet’s 
brink 

Stoop and dip her glossy tresses ’neath the wave, 

Then fling a crystal shower to some lily’s craving drink, 
And sway with pleasure at the joy she gave. 

Even saw some sturdy bluegrass help a daisy to arise 
When a careless footfall flung her to the sod, 

And the morning glory’s wisdom always fill me with sur¬ 
prise, 

While the silly sunflower thinks the sun is God. 

Have you never seen the flowers sound asleep, some moon¬ 
lit night 

While the night wind hovered o’er them, crooning low, 
Or watched them as they ’waken in the early morning light 
With their dew-drenched sleepy faces all aglow? 

Yes, the daisy, rosebud, lily, pansy, violet or bloom 
Have their counterparts in loved ones whom we know, 
And their pure, appealing beauty and heavenly perfume 
Prove their kinship to the souls who love them so. 


/ 


TEDDY 


You had to figure Roosevelt, 

When he swung into a fight. 
Because, he always had the “goods” 
And was mostly always right. 
Another thing about “Our Ted” 

That no one can deny, 

He fought out in the open 
Where brave men do or die. 

He would never ask for quarter, 

And in the thickest of the fray, 

His blade would know no brother, 
With its scabbard thrown away. 
And when the fight was over, 

And the “dead ones” were interred 
Uncle Sam would softly murmur: 
“Teddy Roosevelt—your a bird.” 


8 


A MEMORY 


He was young (mark that). His face was rather good, 
but pale. He was in Chicago—broke. Not starving—as 
yet. Just very hungry. Nasty night—raining. No over¬ 
coat. Would love a cup o’ coffee and a bit o’ something—oh, 
well, maybe tomorrow. Wanders on toward a bright spot 
ahead; reaches it as audience are leaving. Comes a couple to 
entrance and stops. Escort leaves companion for the mo¬ 
ment. Girl slowly turns her beautiful eyes on youth. His 
pale face loses its pallor; his shoulders straighten. Her warm, 
limpid gaze meets his. She smiles. There is not a trace of 
pity in her sweet eyes—just admiration, and a little touch 
of wistfulness—for there is sheer adoration in the lad's eyes 

—and-. Her escort comes puffing up; they pass up the 

street to^a waiting carriage. She looks back, finds his face 
in the fast-dwindling groups and smiles again, with a slight 
flush of roguishness—and is gone. 

And the stranded youth? He must have fled, for in his 
place stood a king. Hunger, rain, wet feet did not exist 
for one who could win that smile. He would never forget 
her. He would make good. He never did. And he did. 


9 



THE REAL THING 


There is no consolation like a friend—I mean a friend. 

Not the kind that flock around you when you have a lot to 
spend, 

You will find that most “good fellows” take your favors, 
then betray, 

And fold their tents like Arabs, and are up and on their way. 

They will stick around like leeches just as long as you are 
flush, 

And painted dames will string you—take your coin with¬ 
out a blush. 

Soon the truth will dawn upon you, when your last false 
friend has flown, 

Leaving you to fight your battles, single handed, and alone. 

Then you find that you’re not wanted, you’re not welcome, 
don’t belong, 

And you look in vain for friendship as you mingle with the 
throng. 

But the memory of your folly is the bitterest of all, 

As you turn to meet misfortune with your back against the 
wall. 

Then you meet a regular fellow you’ve neglected for a while, 

Who grips your hand like iron, looks you over with a smile,, 

Saying “Son, I’m glad to see you; where in blazes have you 
been?” 

And with his hand upon your shoulder you become a man 
again. 

Then you go away together, maybe have a drink or two, 


IO 


While he tears the clouds asunder, and lets the sunshine fall 
on you. 

And with his aid and counsel, soon your fortune's on the 
mend. 

Ah! there is no consolation like a true and loyal friend. 


II 


BACK YONDER 


Say, you with the topper—just cut out the sneer 
At the men on the benches, you find sitting here; 

They can do very nicely without you, or your scorn, 

For they helped make this country before you were bom. 

Yes, the fellows you see sitting here in the shade 
Were right on the job when this country was made. 
’Way back in the Eighties, lots earlier, too, 

They sure made a home for such ingrates as you. 

Why, some of these people helped build the U. P. 

That opened an Empire for you and for me— 

Built dams that made deserts bloom just like a rose, 

Tore quartz “dust” and nuggets from aeons of repose. 

They rode after cattle, and laid the first rail, 

And piloted pack trains o’er river and trail, 

Punched holes thru the mountains for you to ride thru, 
And suffered all hardships for just such as you. 

There are men sitting here that Ben Holladay knew. 
When his Pony Express to a Limited grew, 

And Onderdonks huskies right here may be found, 

Tho they left their young manhood around Puget Sound. 

Geronimo, Joseph and the great Sitting Bull, 

And Apache Victoria, all had their hands full 
When they left their Reserve, on a death-dealing raid. 

It was Crook, and these lads, made those devils afraid. 


12 


And they weren’t all roughnecks, for the girls of those days 
Could tell you some stories that would thrill and amaze, 
How these men fairly worshipped the ground that they trod, 
And a good woman’s honor was as safe as with God. 

Not slow in a quarrel, or easy to bend. 

Yet square as a die, and true as friend. 

They had money to burn, and burn’d it like men. 

But earned every dollar, and would burn it again. 

It was only last week, on a bench over there, 

An old fellow fainted, and to give him some air, 

We opened his shirt, found a work of real art, 

For Old Glory was tatooed right over his heart. 

How in hell can such men compete with the crew 
Who are swarming around them, when people like you 
Who are reaping the harvest these fellows have sown 
Are so slow with the bread, and so quick with the stone. 

Well! That’s about all, Pard. We’ll call it a day. 

You may pick up your playthings and be on your way. 

No, thanks—keep your money—but I’d like to remark 
That there's always some room—for one more in the park. 


13 


WRONG PEW 


A large bunch of roses 

I carried a mile— 

For You. 

A cold little nod 

And the ghost of a smile— 
For Me. 

The weather was mentioned 

And so was the cat— 

By You. 

Forgotten engagement 

And grab for my hat— 

By Me. 

Small refund on roses— 

By Florist. 


14 


INCURABLE 


When everything is said and done. 

God help the man I say, 

Who has for mate a jealous wife 
To vex him every way. 

If so be it he err but once, 

He n’er can make amends. 

He might as well be deep in hell, 
They never can be friends. 

Let her but think her idol’s feet 
Are only made of clay. 

Farewell to happiness and love. 
Forever and a day. 

A careless word—a jest—a glance. 

A “trifle light as air.” 

Will ope’ the floodgates of her wrath. 
And plunge both in despair. 

When memories of bygone days 
And love songs both have sung. 
Have no restraining power upon 
A woman’s venomed tongue. 

Then tear her image from ycur heart. 

Regardless of the pain. 

And let ye part, and go thy ways, 
And never meet again. 


15 


A PLEA 


Listen, my boy, to the words of a man 
Who’s hair is now sprinkled with grey. 

You will never regret, having hearkened to me 
As you journey along Life’s Highway. 

Don’t sneer, my dear boy, at the poor aged man 
Who never from poverty rose. 

You will only cause sorrow—you easily can, 
For he may—hit you a punch in the nose. 


16 


REST 


When your’re heartsick, tired and worn, 
Wishing you were never born, 

That’s the time for you to rest; 

All by yourself, I think, is best. 

Wife’s all right, and mother, too, 

But sometimes even they won’t do. 

What you really need is rest; 

All by yourself, I think, is best. 

And when alone, don’t think, don’t try, 

And if you are a woman, cry. 

Lay down your load awhile, and rest; 

All by yourself, I think, is best. 

Perhaps you’ll feel a sense of shame, 

But that’s all right—you’re not to blame, 
Don't have to quit. Just take a rest; 

All by yourself, I think, is best. 

There, that’s better . . . Now, don’t you fret; 
Why, you ain’t even half licked yet. 

All you need is just a rest; 

All by yourself , you'll find, is best . 


17 


SNARLYOSITIES 


Don t neglect your wife, business, or razor. 

Your razor and business won’t stand neglect. 

Dont boast of the business you did during the war. 

Keep mum—keep all. 

Han sez he is God’s noblest handiwork. 

Gee! You ought to see me. 

¥Voman —Salt of the earth. 

Other kinds too—dad knows—ask him. 

Love —Obsolete, tho marvelous imitations can be obtained. 
Kindness —Caring for your own, People, Pulpit, Party— 
and Pup. 

Jealousy —The malady of fools. 

I’ve had it*, have you? 

Church —Cloak emporium. 

(For lots and lots of us.) 

Money —Linguist extraordinaire—in any language. 

Virtue —Running mate for radium. Think it over. 

Joy —The ability to kid yourself. 

Sorrow —Realization of what you are. 

Death —A true friend. Impatient—and a bit hasty—at 

times. 


THE WINNER 


Jump into the ring with you coat off, kid, 

And show them just what you can do, 

For there’s many a man with a three-sheet name 
That hasn’t a thing on you. 

But they had the grit—these three-sheet men, 
And just made up their minds to be “it.” 

Many a time they were beat to the ropes, 

But they didn’t know how to quit. 

And now they are ’way up among ’em, 

And live on the fat of the land. 

Their fourflushing days are over and gone, 

And they meet everywhere the glad hand. 

So don’t hell around with the dames, boy, 

And just let that old booze thing alone. 

You’ll have plenty of time to roll your hoop 
When you don’t have to count every “bone.” 

Then get the right people to listen, 

And show them just what you can do, 

For there’s many a man with a three-sheet name 
Not a damn bit smarter than you. 


*9 


THE RECALL 


You went away and did not say farewell. 

You left me with a smile, and that was all. 

Your going seemed to break some mystic spell 
That held my voice, my heart and soul, in thrall. 

I did not dream that I would miss you so, 

I never thought that you could go away 
Without word or token that would let me know 
That we would meet again some future day. 

My heart was yours, but unawakened lay, 

I loved you, dearest, but I did not know 
Until your absence made we want to pray 
For your return, because—I miss you so. 


20 


REJECTED 


Nature, or some Divinity who loved you, chose you from 
a multitude of womankind to receive the One Gift that 
elevates your sex to an almost Divine level. 

Chose you above many good women and true who would 
gladly go down into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, 
for the mere chance of emerging therefrom with a living 
Bud from the Garden of Life. And you—how did you 
receive your wonderous favor? With joy and gratitude? 
No—you took: your Gift and flung it out of the world— 
to grope its way back to the loving arms from whence it 
came. 

Oh! the pity of it! Think of those little hands held forth 
in supplication at the foot of the Great White Throne, crav¬ 
ing mercy for one whom it were sacrilege to call Mother. 

And at that—the poor bruised, rejected little Flower— 
may be the means of gaining your forgiveness. 


21 


THE BOOKING AGENCY 


I opened up an office, ’round the corner off Broadway 
For booking every kind of act, singer, sketch or play, 
Where professionals and amateurs of high and low degree, 
Are often eager to sign up when tired of “liberty.” 

The “artistes” and the actresses I meet with every day 
Have some peculiarity of odd eccentric way. 

The fat ones would be Juliets, the lean ones long for tights, 
While frantic foreign females make me listen to their plights. 

The men are not a bit like that, they own up their immense, 
And will let me know about the part when ready to com¬ 
mence. 

They are wedded to their Art, they say, all else is plumb 
forgotten, 

But ere they leave they let me know the salary is rotten. 

All mirth and fun—Ah! no; just watch that smile that 
covers sorrow. 

That poor, brave smile, that makes one say: “You might 
drop in tomorrow.” 

Oh! the pathos, heartache, failure; the dream9 that won’t 
come true 

Make one hate their avocation, long for something else to do. 

At times we disagree, I know—but among that kindly crew 
Are a lot of true and loyal souls the best I ever knew. 

Like an arrow from the bow they leaped when red war’s 
tocsin rang, 

They gathered gold, gave life and limb, and thru it all they 
sang. 


22 


Money is my recompense, but there is pure delight 
In helping real ability to win a losing fight, 

And tho lacking lights and music there is always sure to be 
Real comedy—real drama—in a Booking Agency. 


23 


WHY LAMENT 


Should friend, wife or sweetheart 
Prove faithless to you, 

Forget it, don’t weep or complain, 

For the fish that are taken 
Each day from the sea 

Are no better than those that remain. 


24 


TURN OUT THE GUARD! 


You find something in this country not in any other land, 

For there’s not an imposition that our people will not stand; 

If it’s coated with “Religion,” and put over with a prayer, 

Any sacreligious vandal can get backing anywhere. 

Ever since the birth of Freedom, in this land we love so 
well, 

There has been a class of creatures who would make this 
land a hell. 

They opposed the great Commander, did their best for Eng¬ 
land’s cause, 

Always hated Old Columbia, and would circumvent her 
laws. 

Every day they show their power in our legislative halls. 

See that thing that you elected, watch it jump! when master 
calls. 

They have even bid defiance to the Presidential Chair, 

And dictate ultimatums to our people—everywhere. , 

And the spineless herd around us do not seem to realize 

That their birthright has been stolen right before their 
very eyes. 

Naught remains now but illusions, since they are no longer 
free, 

While the new Czar of Columbia, laughs at them in hell¬ 
ish glee. 

Who bereft us of our birthright? Was it by a foreign foe? 

Not at all! The ones that robbed us, even Judas wouldn’t 
know. 


25 


His was but a crime of terror. Fear had gripped his craven 
soul, 

But the ones who tricked Columbia are still adding to their 
roll. 

Mighty ships are lying idle, mines give forth no welcome 
store, 

Harvest fields and laughing vinyards doesn’t mean much 
any more. 

Everything is at a standstill, idleness and crime prevail, 

Business men won’t hazard money, fearing they are sure 
to fail. 

But aside from loss of Freedom, there’s the ridicule and 
shame 

That these people put upon us when Abroad one speaks 
our name. 

What would Farragut or Dewey say about our Navy now 

If they came aboard a Cruiser, with a sniff-hound in the 
prow? 

Now the women (heaven bless ’em), was heard from late 
last Fall— 

For they’ve had enough of Volstead, and they took his scalp 
—that’s all! 

She has has seen her country ruined, all respect for law 
decline, 

And in Freedom’s ranks you’ll find her, keeping step and 
right in line. 

Now, in God’s name let’s awaken, to the danger we are in. 

Let the old stock and the new stock get together—plan to 
win! 


2 6 


Then at the polls with mighty power obtain just what we 
need— 

Life , Liberty, and Happiness, and to every man his creed. 

When we started as a Nation, Freedom was our battle-cry. 

. When we won! ’twas the foundation of the Flag we raised 
on high, 

And that Flag has borne a Message, that the lowliest could 
read, 

But we've broken faith with every man George Washing- 
ton did lead! 


27 


NEAR LUVAIN 


When the hero returned to the land of his birth 
In all hearts he held royal domain, 

For not only England, but all of the earth, 

Had thrilled o’er his deed—near Luvain. 

And there on his plebeian breast was a gage 
That his peers would give life to obtain, 

While his name is writ large upon history’s page, 

For his superman fight—near Luvain. 

It was not among worshipping peasant or peer, 

But alone that I met him again, 

And besought him that night o’er a drop o’ good beer 
To describe that great day—near Louvain. 

“Wy, the papers ’ave told just about ’ow it was, 

A bit padded, but right, in the main, 

An’ old England seems pleased, for she gimmie the Cross 
There in France—on the field—near Luvain. 

’Twas the gun—that damn gun—kep’ us all from our goal, 
And I watched it ’til nearly insane 
As it coldly an’ calmly collected its toll 
From our lads who now sleep—near Luvain. 

Well, yeh read ’ow I smashed ’em—not a man turned to 

fly— 

An’ I wiped ’em all out in a rain— 

O’ bullets an shells as went a bit ’igh, 

In the fight for that gun—near Luvain. 


28 


You’ll be first one to know of a thing that was done 
In that “nightmare o’ bloodlust an’ strain,” 

I found when ’twas over, I’d killed an old friend, 

In that short glimpse o’ hell—near Luvain. 

Yes! there ’e lay ’mong the others—’Is ’ead battered in. 

No mistake! it was Carl—that was plain— 

’E was just a young fellow I worked with at ’ome. 

God, ’e put up some fight—near Luvain. 

In that time ’fore the War, it was “Mutter” an’ “Frou” 
That he longed for—but would never complain, 

An’ when he started for ’ome, I can feel ’is grip now, 

’Twas the last ’til we met—near Luvain. * 

Yes! I’m proud o’ my Cross, and I’m proud o’ my King, 
Still, I try to forget, but in vain. 

That ’twas not only Carl that I killed in that fight, 

But a woman, who was not —near Luvain. 


2 9 


INDISPENSABLE 


Here’s to the fool, God bless him, 

What would this world be to-day 

If the faddist or crank, by fate’s whimsical prank 
Gained the power to send him away. 

What then would become of Dan Cupid? 

What would the bookmakers do? 

Wall Street would crash for lack of their cash, 

And so would that “Pussyfoot” crew. 

The flim-flammer, mountebank, gambler, 

The shysters of Gospel and law, 

The big politician, who gains his position 
With “jack” and the power of his jaw. 

The blackmailing dame with the diamonds, 

The crooks with “collection” and “drive,” 

Thep all grab the “dough” that the foolish bestow, 

Then marvel how “suckers” do thrive. 

The “elect” kept alive by the taxes, 

Won by sweat of the workingman’s brow, 

Tells that poor thirsty wight, when he mentions his plight, 
“You may fill on the swill, we allow!” 

Why, the fakers who live on the foolish 
Would reach to the banks of the Nile. 

Just imagine the havoc would follow, 

Their exile to some foreign isle. 


30 


On that day of the fool’s deportation, 

How I’d laugh at the grief of the vile. 
But alas! not for me such a vision of glee! 
For I’d be one of the first on that isle! 


31 


THE BIRTH OF A POET 


A FANTASY 

Long had I knelt at Posey’s gentle shrine, craving just 
one boon of the fair goddess, nor had I come to her with 
barren breast, and cold—or she had not laid her cherished 
gems upon her brow, where they shone like beaten gold. 

Glimpses of her fair self had she vouchsafed me. Stand¬ 
ing, now in bosky dell with dewy lips, adroop, and oh! such 
dreamy sadness in the glance of her moist eyes. 

Again, with laughing brow and green tendrils of a flow¬ 
ering vine, woven in the gleaming masses of her hair, she 
stood. ’Twas in this gracious mood that she did’st harken 
to my plaint—not made with mortal lips, but with soul 
aflame with eager question, thus I spake: 

“Tell me, your humble slave, oh! goddess divine, why I 
—in whose deathless soul are mines of poetic gems that if 
caught as they well forth in all their warm sweet beauty, 
and placed in golden setting with the heavenly skill of 
Byron, would shed a warm glow across the cold, grey path 
of life, even as did his matchless Jewels; why? I ask, in all 
humility, have not I even as he, the boon I crave?” 

Then came darkness—and my answer. Slowly I began 
to discern two massive gates of pearl that swung open on 
their golden hinge. Forth came an angel with great white 
wings, in whose tender arms lay a little child. Straight to 
this earth he flew, and placed his precious burden on the 
white, warm breast of a woman. Then, with a smile of 
infinite sweetness, turned he to depart for those realms from 
whence he came. And the baby—putting forth its tiny 
hand to stay his flight —plucked from his pearly wing a 
quill. I had my answer " 


32 


HAVE YOU LIVED? 


You have not lived, you have not walked with God 
Unless your eyes brimmed bitter tears, 

Unless your soul has shook with fears, 

Unless you’ve lean’d across a bed 
And saw some loved one lying dead. 

Or something brought you to your knees 
From yon proud pinnacle of ease, 

To crave your God, with aching heart, 

Bid some sorrow to depart. 

And as He bade you to arise, 

He healed your wounds, He dried your eyes. 

And when you reach that mystic shore, 

He is all you need, there’s nothing more. 

There s nothing more. 


33 


CALL A HALT! 


Get this—men and women of America—you are not 
fighting God or Government when you get together and 
use your tremendous power to restore and prevent further 
desecration of our blood-bought Constiution! 


34 


JUST A KISS 


Just a kiss— 

That’s all! 

Just a glimpse o’ heaven, a heaven of many-colored 
clouds, and bands of angels, singing angels with golden 
wings and harps attuned to perfect melody. All in a kiss, 
you say? Yes, all in your kiss, 

And more— 

Much more! 

Just a kiss— 

That’s all! 

Taken, with half-closed, sightless eyes, from 
frightened, softly-clinging lips. The instant nuptials of two 
languorous souls, leaving each gazing into eyes aflame with 
thrills of wondering ecstasy o’er bliss attained, and limpid 
with love’s joyous moisture, that is akin to tears. All in 
a kiss, you say? Yes, all in your kiss! 

And more— 

Much more! 


35 


MY NODLAND LASS 


Who is this girl I meet by night 
In the Beautiful Land o’ Dreams? 

I seem obsessed ’til I meet this maid, 

Who’s eyes thru the moon-mist gleams. 

She leads me to places where liquors flow, 

And her minions make golden brew; 

And there in her arms she whispers low, 

“All that heavenly hootch is for you.” 

But, alas! Soon I’m banished by stern command, 
When the “spirit of light” appears, 

And the girl shares my exile from drowsyland, 
Until I awake—in tears. 


36 


THE LIMIT 


I have met the eye of an angry man 
With clenched fist and frothing jaw; 

I have stood for the lies of a vengeful dame 
Without recourse to word or law; 

I have even laughed when a clever rogue 
Didst scanty shekles from my purse beguile; 
But, there’s one effront I will not brook— 
That’s the caustic venom of a dirty smile. 


37 


WHEN YOU’RE THRU 


When once you let a woman see 
Your feet are only clay, 

You might as well just quit, dear friend— 
Be up and on your way. 

Go build yourself another nest, 

Another bird will come; 

Seek not solace in the grave, 

Nor fly to demon rum. 

Go garb yourself in rich array, 

Wash neck, and roach your hair, 

Put shekels in thy purse, dear friend— 
You’ll need them—everywhere. 

For shekels put you on a plane, 

Where pikers cannot rise, 

So that when you grab some winsome wench, 
You won’t have to Hooverize. 


38 


BLISS DENIED 


Prate not to me of unrequitted affection. Am I not in 
sorer straits than thee? Thou, to whom is given the right 
to dream, plead, strive; aye, and lay thy throbbing heart 
upon thy loved one’s shrine, and with tongue inspired with 
love’s sweet eloquence, win mayhap thy soul’s desire. 

Whilst I can never in this life, by so much as one poor 
word, betray the mad love that has gript me—as if with 
hooks of steel. 


39 


SHAMELESS FLIRTATION 


A young lady held out her dimpled hand to me on a car 
today. We had never met before, but she seemed to think 
an introduction entirely unnecessary. I took the young 
lady’s hand and said something formal and rather silly— 
simply because her mother had her eye on both of us. 

But what I longed to do was gather her up and kiss her 
round, soft, dimpled arms; talk baby talk, and hug her 
just as much as ever I wanted to. But her mother (a self¬ 
ish person) kept her on her lap. 

Still her look of regret at parting made me smile softly 
and proudly many times during a very trying and busy day. 


40 


THE LOOKOUT 


’Twas a cold day in Hades, old Nick was in pain; 

He was suffering the pangs of dyspepsia again. 

He turned up his nose at nice salads of fire, 

And brimstone croquettes only kindled his ire. 

Now, old Nick altho sick, was as sharp as a pin, 

And saw something wrong with the sins coming in. 

Tho arriving in bags holding thousands or more, 

They were only the sins of the lonely and poor. 

So he ordered his four brightest imps to appear, 

And dispatched them to earth with these orders so clear: 
“See that ye bring me the sins of the rich, 

The high and exalted not of those in the ditch.” 

So one sped to our Senate, one to Holland did steer, 
Another held up a big fat profiteer. 

This imp held his nose, for a profiteer vile, 

Is so rank that the devil can smell him a mile. 

The fourth found an honest-to-God little church 
To fill up his bag but got left in the lurch. 

He felt he could get a large bagful or more, 

But was stopped by a fat, rosy kid at the door. 

The three other imps, with bags filled to the brim, 

Sought and found the fourth imp and just ridiculed him. 
“Well, I’m glad that you came, now you bet I’ll get by, 
We’ll combine and get rid of this fresh little guy.” 


41 


“Why, you simp,” they replied, “don’t you know who is 
here, 

Why, it’s Love, perfect Love, whom all devils do fear. 
And in spite of us all, right there he will stay, 

Only cranks and reformers can drive him away. 

“So, pick up your bag, you cannot get in; 

You will have to go elsewhere to hustle for sin. 

’Tis no place for devils, with Love watching near, 

So, come on, get a move—get to hell out of here ” 


42 


IN THERE 


Gee! how I wish I was in the ring, 

This waiting down here doesn’t do a thing 
To a feller’s nerve. Say, Tut! do yuh think, 

They’ll kick on this tape—for the other gink 
What’s that? Not a seat left in the Hall 
And the gang all here—why don’t they call ? 

You say he’s a “cinch” for an inside right, 

But his left—when landed—spells a sweet goodnight. 

Listen to that! who’s in there now 
Holy smokes! what an awful row. 

The Gas House Idol—just lost in three? 

Well! come on, get ready, the next is me. 

Scared ? Why no! This isn’t fear! 

If I was yella I wouldn’t be here. 

Say! Why don’t you sing it about his left? 

Take a peek at this right—wanta feel it’s heft? 

To the sou’west corner? All right, old top. 

If we git that corner, we’re sure to cop. 

Gangway! Boys, make a passage, please; 

What this dump needs is a little breeze. 

Say! that was nice of that little dame, 

She wished me luck, an’ she knows me name. 

Well! here we are in the ring, at last, 

And win or lose, the worst is past. 

“Don’t hit in the clinches,” I understand. 

May the best man win, Kid—give us yer hand! 
Clang! Shapes up well! But he missed me twice! 
Why, he couldn’t hit me, wit’ a pound o’ rice! 

43 


Crash! What’s the matter? Thud! What a pain! 
Them aint stars that’s a golden rain! 

What happened, fellers? Where are yuh, Tut? 

Why, what do they mean by “Git up!—yuh mut.” 

Saved by the bell! when the count was seven. 

Say, Tut! that stuff musta come from heaven, 

I’m all right, now. See ’em nod an’ smile; 

They think they’ve got us—by a thousand mile, 

Don’t worrie, Tut, about this fight, 

For I’m goin’ to win it, with an inside right. 

There goes the bell! See that dirty sneer. 

If he starts that swing it’ll end—right here. 

He’s goin’ to do it! Hope yer lookin’; Tut, 

For he’s one o’ the guy’s sed, “Get up! Yuh Mut,” 

Here it comes! from the hip like a flash of light! 

But I beat him to it—with me inside right! 

I step inside with a lightning shift— 

And put all I have, in a twisting lift. 

“Yer out,” sez the count. Not so bad—for a “Mut,” 
* * * * * 

But me shoestrings are busted from that left one , Tut!! 


44 


NIKA-CUMTUX 


(I Savvy) 

Bob, just laid the book down that you gave the Kid, 

And I laid it down with a sigh. 

For I like that man and the things he did. 

In that land o’ the leaden sky. 

For I too have lived as he has lived, 

In that land where the salmon swum 
In the Frazier’s whirl—and a Kloochman Girl, 

Was my Klos Nika Tillicum. 

And every time I'd turn a page the old days came in view 
And there stood many a pal o' mine , tho I didn't know 
Dan McGrew. 

And sometimes, Bob, in these flinty streets. 

Where the pickins’ o’ hell parade. 

I long to be—in that Illihee 

Where life is not all—masquerade. 


45 


ON GUARD, AMERICANS! 

r : ■' yi : if 

They threaten to part us, but oh! what a chance, 

You slim white beauty—so round and fair, 

You hung on my lips ’mid the poppies of France, 

When the grim, cold reaper was everywhere. 

In the chill night mistral—the mud and rain, 

You smiled in my eyes like an Eastern Star, 

You smoothed from my forehead the furrows of pain, 

And pictured my home—o’er the billows afar. 

That day in the “Forest,” when the world went mad, 

And my quiet “Buddie” paid the final toll, 

You were last on the lips of that smiling lad, 

When the summons came to his dauntless soul. 

So these sanctified bigot’s, these breeders of hate, 

These moron’s who live by the fad’s they beget, 

Must be taught a stern lesson, by our country and state, 

In this fight to a finish—for our Queen Cigarette! 


4 6 



WHAT IS LOVE 


You ask me to tell you what love is, Kid, 

And you want me to speak out plain. 

You say you will listen and do as I bid, 

Tho I warn you from love to refrain. 

Having looked into eyes of a heavenly hue, 

Framed in tresses of golden sheen. 

Your soul seeks to know if those eyes are true, 

And those sweet smiles are all that they seem. 

What is Love? Lad, believe me, and list to me well. 
I know this imposter, and the truth I will tell— 
That his victims are legion, like the sands of the sea, 
And he seeks to destroy them wherever they be. 

He uses the methods the ancient gods had, 

And begins their destruction by making them mad. 
He wrecks with his arts a once happy home, 

And drives forth its inmates in sorrow to roam. 

In return for his smiles and blandishments brief, 

Full many a man he has branded a thief. 

He will tear from her side a widow’s lone son, 

Or a man from his hearthstone, dishonored—undone. 
That shape that is floating out there with the tide, 

Is one of “Love’s” victims, to whom he has lied. 

See the mud in his nostrils, his hair full of slime. 
That poor lad was “lovable” once on a time. 

It is not only men, lad, but women there be 
Who suffer in silence, yet long to be free, 

And gladly would end all their sorrows and woe, 
Were it not for a little one; no one will know. 

47 


Perhaps, my dear fellow, you think it is wrong 
To speak of “sweet love” in a manner so strong, 

And you wonder if Love ever forced me to kneel. 

He puts scars on my heart, lad, that never will heal. 
He has marked you, my boy, and is forming a plan 
To make you a thing—instead of a man. 

So fight out in the open, be cautious and brave 
Be love’s master, my boy—or he’ll make you his slave. 


NONPLUSSED 


Each Sunday I the papers scan 
And view the face of some rich man. 
And eke the one that is to be 
H is better half or more, maybe. 

And as I gaze on her profile 
Within me something seems to rile. 
’Twill always be a mystery 
How some men lose their liberty. 


49 


MARY 


Mary hath a charming dimple, 

In the middle of her chin. 

Mary’s bright eyes hath a twinkle, 

That’ll get you—sure as sin. 

When it comes to fooling Mary, 

Making b’lieve you’re not impressed 
You will find out, if you linger, 

You’re a “good thing” like the rest. 

Mary wears her clothes like no one, 

Mary’s manner is sublime, 

But I’m agoing to break with Mary, 

For her flirting is a crime. 

She can go her way—forever. 

I won’t even speak her name. 

Oh! darn that phone! What? This you, Mary? 
Sure! I was just goin’ over when your message 
came! 


50 


WHEN FATHER WAS FIRED 


When father, dear father, comes home to us now, 

There is grief in his heart, there’s a cloud on his brow. 

For the bell start’s aringing, and in comes a mob 
Of collectors who heard that poor Dad lost his job. 

First came the landlord, demanding his rent, 

Then that pest of a gasman, on trouble intent. 

And the furniture man, with his book, at the door, 

While the iceman is making a horrible roar. 

'-■S ?-;■:! 

The milkman has threatened to cut oif our milk, 

And the grocery man thinks we are all on the bilk. 

Our tailor (a Dutchman) his scanty locks tore, 

And the cobbler won’t cobble for us any more. 

The man with insurance, the man with the rolls, 

And piano collector are after their tolls. 

The Jew that let mother have dresses on time, 

Sheds tears, bitter tears, oh his grief is sublime. 

The man on the corner has quit selling beer, 

And the laundry man put a large flea in our ear. 

The janitor frowns when we meet on the stair, 

And fearing a “touch,” all our “friends” take the air. 

WP i ¥' . 

Now comes the mailman with duns by the dozen, 

And a registered letter for Dad—from his cousin. 

“Ma, Bob’s dead—and left me fifty thousand. Poor Bob.” 
Well! You ought to see Ma, getting right on the job. 


51 


4 


OUT IN FRONT 

Now let me get you right,—old man. 

You’re licked, you say—did all you can. 

And that’s all you can ask of any man. 

But that aint so! 

For since I had that talk with you. 

I ran across a little Jew 

One day last week on Eighth Avenue. 

Whom YOU should know. 
He was old and grey—he was small and thin. 

But fulla’ pep and was out to win, 

And over one arm was some kinda skin. 

He had for show. 

I followed him along the street 
’Till he a younger Jew did meet. 

And to watch his work was something sweet. 

I’ll tell ya, bo! 

When the old boy gently began to chin, 

I’d bet a million—he couldn’t win, 

But the things he did with that punky skin. 

Took the brown chapeau! 
He held a part of it to the light, 

Some other parts he kept out o’ sight. 

He could “Do His Stuff!” and he done it Right 
He was “rearing to go.” 
The other guy was a hard boiled egg. 

And at first he wouldn’t move a peg. 

But the old man scored on the final leg. 

And got his dough! 


52 


Then he pulled his derby down on his ears, 

Threw out his chest and for home he steers. 

And I wanted to give him three rousing cheers! 

As he turned to go! 

He was “Comme il faut.” 


53 


HAVE U EVER? 


Have U ever built castles that grew less and less, 

Have U ever had thoughts that you dare not express, 

Have U ever got tired of a job nearly done, 

Have U ever quit cold in a race nearly won? 

No? Some do! 

Have U ever said, “Folks! I won’t smoke any more”, 

Have U quit for two days and made everyone sore, 

Have U kicked the poor cat, nearly murdered the mutt. 
Have U laughed like a loon, as you lit an old butt? 

No? Some do! 

Have U ever with wifey been taken to tea, 

Have U there met Professor McLeer o’ Dundee. 

Have U sat in a corner feeling dumb as a bat, 

Have U snuck out and “beat it” and left ’em all flat? 

No? Some do! 

Have U made up your mind on a dentist to call, 

Have U stood knees a-knocking outside in the hall, 

Have U climbed in the chair, saying “here’s where I die,” 
Have U had to laugh lightly—when you wanted to cry? 

No? Some do! 

Have U got out of bed with a terrible thirst, 

Have U drank and drank water ’til your tank nearly burst, 
Have U searched the whole house for just one little drink, 
Have U found a Sahara—and went back to the sink? 

No? Some do! 

Have U formed an opinion on what people think, 

54 


Have U noticed their latest expression on drink. 

Have U viewed with alarm the returns from the polls. 
Have U seen some big fakers all shot full of holes? 

You have? 
So did I!! 
Ha! ha! ha! 
So sorry! 
He! he! he! 


55 


ALONE 

It seems to be my fate on this cold shore—to be alone. 
Wonder if in realms beyond the stars I’ll be alone? When 
just a tot a-playing on the floor my mother left me for 
another shore. I was alone. 

I grew to be a seemly youth, and met one who loved me, 
and I—not only her did I love, but every one on whom she 
smiled, the clinging garments she wore, her little shoes, that 
I could almost hide within my loving palms. 

I loved the soft waving tendrils of her golden hair, that 
the roguish zephyrs fain would use to caress her blushing 
cheek and beauteous lips, quivering with all the emotions 
of her tender heart. 

And then—then came something in the night that stilled 
forever the heart that loved me. 

And again—I am alone. 


MULTUM IN PARVO 


It’s gittin’ colder, an’ it’s goin’ to snow, 

An’ he’s jist a feller ’at hasn’t any place to go. 

Well! . . . what of it—I would like to know? 
Oh! Nuthin’ . . . Much . . . But it’s goin’ to snow 
An’ he’s jist a feller ’at hasn’t any place to go. 


57 


LOVE’S VICTORY 


Up from the South where the cotton grows, 
From a sleepy town where the Suwanee flows, 
Came a girl, just a girl with form devine. 
Another pearl for the city’s swine. 

I met and loved her and fain would be 
Her humble slave thru eternity, 

But my love must forever remain untold, 

For the dewy bud deems a flower old. 

With all the power of my heart and soul 
I sought to save, but she paid the toll 
To this town accursed where the harpies wrest 
The tender bird from the parent nest. 

Oh! Thou in the hollow of Whose hand 
Repose the mighty sea and land, 

Give back, I pray, my wounded dove to me, 
And I will ask no greater boon to thee. 

* * * * * 

At last I found her, no loved one nigh, 

She had crept away—alone—to die. 

From her sunken cheeks had the roses fled 
And the golden tresses from her shorn head. 

She sobbed her story on my loving breast, 

Then I told mine and bade her rest. 

She kissed me—thought awhile—and smiled, 
Then slept contented, like a little child. 


Two golden years of all my life—the best, 
I’ve called her mine—her babe at breast. 
Our little home, the love-light in her eyes, 
God’s mercy makes our nest a Paradise. 


59 


BYGONES 


Say! Why don’t yeh look where yer goin’? 

Wake up, come to life, if yeh can. 

Why, hello Dave, old top we near hit yeh; 

Don’t be sore, git right in here, ole man. 
Well, I haven’t seen you since that mornin’ 

We both tried to ’list, you got by, 

But they wudn’t take me for a sojer, 

For they told me I had a bum eye. 

Lots o’ things happened to me, Dave, 

Since that mornin’ I tried to enlist. 

When rejected, I went over to Jersey, 

Our old Uncle Sam to assist. 

In the shops I was put with a night gang, 
Where I thot of a part for a gun. 

Got a patent, and oodels of money, 

Just for making it hot for the Hun. 

You remember o’ course I was married 
To the best little girl in the land. 

But as soon as I got the big money 

I went wrong, Dave. My fault, understand. 
She wasn’t long gittin’ my number, 

And in court, where they took me one day, 
The Judge shook me down for a fortune. 

I was only too eager to pay. 

The Court won’t permit me to see her, 

But her maid keeps me posted, yeh see. 

An’ she sez that her Missus starts talkin’, 

Every once in a while, about me- 

6o 


Sez she had an old trunk from the basement 
Brought up on her nice parlor floor 
An’ her rugs wus soon littered with trinkets, 

We usta git in the Five an’ Ten Store. 

Don’t yeh ’member how poor we wur, David, 
When we lived over on the East Side. 

I thot of those days, when the maid sez, 

“She looked over that rubbish, an’ cried.” 

I cud see us both walkin’ together, 

Hand-in-hand and keepin’ time with the song. 
The girl at the counter was singin’ 

As we bought things, an’ moseyed along. 

I’m a takin’ yuh ’round to her home, Dave. 

There it is, she will see you, ole man 
Go in, pard, an’ see can yuh square things, 

Fer me, make it strong as yeh can. 

* * * * * 

Well, Dave, did she seem to be angry, 

When yuh sed what I told yeh to say? 

What ? Sez she still has muh pipe an’ ole slippers ? 
Say, Dave. How in hell do yuh pray? 


61 


THINKING OF YOU 


I miss you when the dewdrops, dear, 

Are glistening on the flowers. 

I miss your loving little ways, 

Thru all the lonely hours. 

But every day there comes a time, 

I miss you most of all. 

It is when the night winds murmur, low, 
As the evening shadows fall. 


62 


AHEAD O’ HOOVER 


Mother used to make us eat the crusts and crumbs to 
become wise. And it was a long time before I became wise 
—to mother. 


63 


“DAMN YANKEES” 

ARE THERE ANY LEFT? 

“On reaching the Green, the British soldiers found the 
Americans arranged in line of battle. 

The Minute Men numbered about 70, while the British, 
headed by Major Pitcairn, numbered nearly 800. Pit¬ 
cairn, dashing into the center of the Minute Men, ex¬ 
claimed, ‘Disperse, ye damn Yankee dogs! Lay down your 
arms!’ An officer fired his pistol into the face of one of 
the Minute Men—killing him on the spot. Then there 
was a general firing from along the line of the British on 
the road, and 8 Americans were killed. The British then 
hastened to Concord .”—From Lexington and Concord. 

* * * * * 

Just awhile ago I lingered, 

By the grave of Paul Revere. 

Read with pride the name of Hancock, 

Carved in marble, standing near. 

Stood upon the spot where heroes 

Met trained foemen, fought and fell. 

Massacred for not submitting, 

Unto laws conceived in hell. 

Bared my head upon the gun deck 
Of the “Constitution” old, 

Sleeping in historic waters, 

Dreaming of her sailors bold. 

Lost to everything around me, 

As I stood in Faneuil Hall, 

And beheld as in a vision 

Gallant men with Warren fall. 

Then with pride my heart was throbbing, 

6 4 


As I watched the setting sun 
Bathe the Bethlehem of freedom, 

On the plains of Lexington. 

Once again I see them springing, 

Gun in hand, from hill and glen, 

Heroes who will live forever— 

Parker, and his “Minute Men.” 

Not for them the aid and counsel 
Of the peerless Washington. 

Not for them the hidden trenches 
Nor the murderous modern gun 
There they stand in line o’ battle, 

Under orders not to fire. 

Thus the haughty Pitcairn found them, 
Cursed, and bade them to retire. 

“Stand your ground,” cried gallant Parker. 

“Hold your fire, let them begin!” 

Right from there take up the story, 

Learn how freemen die or win. 

How the British fared at Concord, 

Their retreat, and what befell— 

Would to God I had the power 
Of all their glorious deeds to tell! 

Keep in mind those men of iron 
When next you battle at the polls 
For the Liberty they left you, 

Now imperiled by craven souls. 

Slay that beast called “Reformation,” 

Wrest from it that blood bought gem— 
Stolen! In a time of trial 
From Columbia’s diadem . 

65 


THE TITANIC 


Out there in the deep she is sleeping, she sleeps 
While here on the land, we are weeping—we weep. 
Weeping for cabin and steerage, but who 
Can ever forget that grand Captain and crew. 

Can ever forget how those wonderful wives, 

Remained with their Men—at the cost of their lives. 

And there was another of that gallant band, 

Whom I wronged in my thoughts—for which I’m un¬ 
manned. 

Like a fool I could not see the man ’neath the skin, 

And had sneeringly dubbed him a soldier of “tin.” 

But his comrades in arms can proudly relate 

How this smiling “tin soldier,” sans fear, met his fate. 

And that stout hearted hero who’s millions would buy 
Some of Earth’s kingdoms, yet who scorned to rely 
On the power of his wealth, tho he knew in his heart 
That the moment had come when from earth he must part. 
So hold your head proudly, you kin of his clan, 

And always remember—he died like a man. 

Out there in the deep. 


66 


JUST DIRT 


Why, Nell! This is really a pleasure, 

I was just only thinking of you, 

Take off your things and sit over here, 

While a cup of nice tea I will brew. 

I’ve been dying to see you, and tell you, 

Some things that May Smithers told me, 

But she made me declare and solemnly swear, 
That they “won’t go no further” you see. 

Let me fill up your cup again, dearie, 

Tho I fear it’s a trifle too weak, 

Have a biscuit, and some of that jelly, 

But don’t look at me—I’m a freak. 

And my hair—it is perfectly horrid, 

For I can’t do a thing with it now, 

Since I washed it last night, it looks like a fright. 
Twisted up like the tail of a cow. 

May Smithers? Why yes! She’s been talking. 

Declares you are crazy to wed, 

But said any man who would look at you twice, 
Must surely be out of his head. 

She did not disparge your morals, 

But said you were sinfully plain, 

And marveled that you were so healthy, 

As you would never see forty again. 

Then said I: “May! you must be mistaken, 

Nell looks as young as aunt Kate. 

And I know from my personal knowledge, 
That aunty is just thirty eight.” 

67 


Said she: “The poor thing must feel naked, 
Her clothes are so old and threadbare, 

And her hat made a ‘hit’ on her mother, 

When she went to Chicago’s World Fair.” 

She also referred to your manners, 

And the size of your hands and your feet. 

And said she could hardly stop laughing, 

As you “waddled” along on the street. 

Why, Nell! Goodness gracious! What ails you? 

She’s gone! and her face was so red! 

Now I wonder if she was offended, 

At something or other I said. 


68 


THE NEGATIVE MAN 


I Never — 

Was a happy man, I’m saddest when I sing. 

Can explain about the War, or anything. 

Was a funny man, my ears refuse to wag. 

Had enough o’ booze to last me thru a jag. 

I Never — 

Could prevent my pants from bagging at the knee. 
Had a handsome shoe that didn’t torture me. 

Pick the winner in a horse race or a fight, 

Drink the stuff I brew, it never comes out right. 

I Never — 

See my girl alone, my heart is filled with gloom, 
Can induce her kin, to rise and leave the room. 
Get a single chance to hold her little hand, 

Gave her anything her people haven’t panned. 

I Never — 

Tried to hold a kid, but what I let it fall. 

Had the knack of being sociable at all. 

Had much luck at anything I say or do, 

For a moment think these lines are pleasing you. 

But 

I Never — 

Held the Treaty up with subterfuge and lie. 
Robbed a baby’s bank, to make my country dry. 
Scared the Senate stiff, saying “Vote! or you retire.” 
Fired at Wilson s back—when he was under fire! 


TO YOUR PHOTO 


To gaze into those tranquil, beauteous eyes might cost 
a man his peace of mind. One beaming glance from their 
liquid depths, backed by a dimpled smile from those curved 
lips, would leave him bereft of sense and power, fit only 
for the jibes and silly sneers of a most heartless and un 
romantic world. 


70 


THE TIRED BUSINESS MAN 


Most every show has some new plan 
To entertain the business man. 

The Tired Business Man, I mean, 

That tired thing to me’s a scream. 

He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 

You’ll see him in some swell cafe 
All dolled up and so blase 
Watch him when some dainty miss 
Gets his eye and does like this. (Biz.) 

He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 

Ride with him out in the park, 

Or hike in the parlor after dark. 

But if you do just watch your step, 

Don’t pull the Ritz—this bird is hep. 

He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 

So, if you and the town are bonehead dry, 
Don’t pity this Tired Business Guy. 

For the old town pump and the kitchen sink 
May be friends of yours—but not this gink. 
He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 

When he calls on you, all spick and span, 
Just sidestep Eddy, Jim or Dan. 

And go with him and have no fear. 


7 1 


For he has no use for twilight beer. 

He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 

But just the same he’s a regular guy, 

Good pal, some wiz, and never shy. 

He won’t die on your hands, I’m here to tell. 
For a Tired Man—he travels well. 

He may be a business man, all right, 
But he aint tired by a gosh darn sight! 


72 


FATHER’S PIPE 


We loved our dear old father and we thought he should 
enjoy 

All the comforts of his happy home when through with his 
employ. 

But he drove us kids demented, and we thought the time 
was ripe 

To foment an insurrection and get rid of father’s pipe. 

He would fill that pipe with something that he whittled 
with a knife, 

And the essence from its reeking bowl would mark a man 
for life; 

But when he poked it with a wire and beat it on his palm, 

The house was filled with tumult where erstwhile all was 
calm. 

Having found his evening paper and with spectacles on nose, 

He would light that blasted pipe of his, then elevate his 
toes. 

And upon my word of honor, when that pipe began to ooze, 

Mother sat right there beside him, calmly listening to the 
news. 


A fireman loved dear sister and he called on her one night. 
She took him in the parlor and was turning down the light, 
When he got one whiff of father’s pipe, then wildly took 
a flyer, 

And left her, crying, “Duty calls. The glue works are on 
fire.” 


73 


One day I bought a splendid pipe, and took it home with 
pride, 

Believing he would use the new and cast the old aside. 

He looked it over carefully and finding nothing wrong, 

He locked it up until, he said, “Me old pipe gets too strong.” 

Then I summoned up my courage, and I told him plump 
and plain 

He ought to disinfect that pipe or never smoke again. 

“Ye scut,” he roared, “get out o’ here;” then swung his 
massive boot, 

And said, “If you could smell, ye dude, ye’d can that ciga- 
root!” 


But that’s all passed. From work one night he came home 
drenched with rain. 

And for weeks we worked and watched and prayed ’ere he 
was well again; 

And the happiest moment of my life, of a sentimental type 
Was the moment when I filled and lit and handed him his 


pipe. 


CHANGE OF HEART 


When I was a little boy 

It filled my heart with pride 
To have a sword, a drum and gun, 
And hobby horse to ride. 

And until just before the War, 

I tho’t how grand ’twould be. 
To wear fine medals on my breast 
So every one could see 
That I a mighty hero was, 

The bravest of the brave, 

And on a hundred battlefields 
Beheld our banner wave. 

But since the war I’m not so keen 
To be a hero man, 

For every Extra that I read 
Or Bulletin I’d scan 
Described some deed of valor 
That a hero did or tried. 

Then in a reminiscent way. 

Told how that hero died. 


FLY IN THE OINTMENT 


A blazing fire upon the hearth, 

Cut glass upon the table. 

A purse of gold, to have and hold, 

As long as I am able. 

A bed of down across the hall, 

A bathrobe—gay and nifty. 

A porcelain tub—to splash and rub, 

A “missus” under fifty. 

*•***■ * 

A lucky guy, I am, you think? 

I am, like hell!—Without a drink! 


7 6 


NO DOCTOR 


My friends, when people come to you and say that you’re 
in wrong, 

And criticize your handiwork, and knock you good and 
strong, 

Just let them speak their monologue, and when they are 
quite thru, 

Murmur softly, “I’m no doctor, but I know what’s ailing 
you.” 

When a clever-talking fellow comes to me and says, “My 
friend, 

I can let you in on something Mr. Snortz will recommend, 

And you needn’t pay at present, just; your check or note 
will do.” 

Then I murmur, “I’m no doctor, but I know what’s ailing 
you.” 

*. 

When wifey call me “Honey”, lets me tell a faded joke. 

Shoo’s the kids away, and tells ’em , “We must let dear 
Daddy smoke 

In the parlor, if he wants to. Let me find your slippers, 
Lew.” 

Then I mutter, “I’m no doctor, but I know what’s ailing 
you.” 

When I see the congregation of a church grow less and less, 

And I listen to the pastor preach a namby-pamby mess, 

See him ruled by “nut” reformers, cater to a “holy” few, 

Then I murmur, “I’m no doctor, but I know what’s ailing 
you.” 


77 


When I see a lot of “champions” come a-sailing o’er the 
foam, 

And in less time than you tell it take a quarter million home, 

How their famous smile is working as they gaze on all they 
drew, 

Oh! you fight fans, “I’m no doctor but I know what’s ail¬ 
ing you.” 

When I see a lot of husky cops go snooping after drinks 

Instead of cleaning up the town that with corruption stinks, 

When Uncle Sam allows these pests to do the things they 
do, 

I say, “Uncle, I’m no doctor, but I know what’s ailing you.” 

Now my fellow saps and boneheads, who can’t have a glass 
o’ beer, 

If you don’t get out and hustle when election time draws 
near, 

Bust this hellish combination—down that Prohibition crew, 

Well! “I’m not a regular doctor, but I know what's ail¬ 
ing you." 


78 


A GLUTTON FOR GLOOM 


My wife is a charming creature, 

But her greatest joy is gloom. 

In the movies she wants murder, 

And new graves where lilies bloom. 

In the papers scans the columns 
Telling where the funerals go. 

Wonders how she’d look in mourning, 
Drenched in tears and walking slow. 

She describes electrocutions, 

Knows the latest loss at sea, 

Tells the number killed by “moonshine,” 
Hints that “hootch” is getting me. 

Scares me stiff with sleeping sickness 
When I fall into a nap, 

Says a cootie’s bite is fatal 

When there’s typhus on the map. 

I can rise up in the morning 
Feeling fine and full of glee, 

And in less than half an hour, 

I’m a hunk o’ misery. 

Folks are murdered every minute, 

Kids are starving o’er the foam, 

Bolshevick are raising blazes, 

From St. Petersburg to Rome. 

Wants to know if I’ll stay single 
When they lay her in the tomb. 

Knows “these belchings aint for nothing,” 
But are warnings of her doom. 


79 


Says she means to hover o’er me 
When they lay her body low, 
Underneath the weeping willow, 

In the sinking sunset glow. 

But I’ve done a lot of thinking 
Since a week ago tonight 
When - my frail wife found a burglar 
And gave him an awful fight. 

Broke his jaw, ribs, arm and pelvis, 
While I hid beneath the bed. 

Doctor came, and said, “She’s normal.” 
Who? the burglar? Why, hes deadI 


80 


AFTER SUPPER 


Am a-listenin’ to a lady, 

Whose hair is gold and grey, 

Idly toying with the keys 

Whisht! Now she starts to play. 

I sang that chune she’s playin’ now 
Some thirty years ago, 

One moonish night, with a girl in white, 

Whose voice was sweet and low, 

“Oh! Believe me if all those endearing young charms-” 

I’m a-sitting here while memory’s hand 
Turn musty pages slow, 

And the lady—bless her gentle heart, 

Was that same girl you know. 

Ah! there is no change in Peggy’s voice, 

’Tis sweeter, I believe. 

But mine! I dare not join her 
In the strains of “Genevieve” 

“Oh! Genevieve, sweet Genevieve the days may come-” 

There goes the bell, here comes the kids, 

Get out the cards and chips, 

Jack has a game from “Over There” 

They played in camps and ships. 

He sez it beats my “Forty Five” 

(Not in a million year) 

What’s that he’s singin’ up the stairs, 

About the gang’s all here? 

“Hail! Hail! The gang’s all here! What the hell do 
we care now.” 


8l 



ANONYMOUS 


When you receive this little gift 
Pray use it as you will. 

Did you but know the giver, 

You would really laugh your fill. 
But my excuse for sending it 
Is in an ancient book, 

Wherein it says the humble cat 
May at the proud Queen look. 


82 


WHY THEY SPLIT 


They were Buddies—Ben and Ted—had been for years. 
Ben married. Then came War. (In Europe, I mean.) 
They answered their country’s call and together in France 
gained merited honors. But in spite of this, Ben’s strange 
actions worried Ted. Ever since the transport left New 
York, Ben smiled. In camp, trenches everywhere, Ben 
smiled, and when he wasn’t smiling, he was laughing out¬ 
right. 

Ted would sometimes awaken in the night and hear Ben 
chuckling in his blankets. What could it mean? Ben was 
never like this at home, Ted became alarmed—visions of 
Ben in the throes of a mental collapse, assailed Ted. He 
looked over at Ben, good old Ben, who was gazing afar with 
happy eyes, still smiling. 

In vain Ted tried to learn the cause of Ben’s seming- 
ly senseless mirth and now Ted’s mind was made up. He 
would find the thing or influence that was wrecking the 
mind of his friend, and destroy it. But alas! He was to 
learn the truth—eftsoons. That very night things began 
to happen. A something in the air like an electric wave 
ran from one end of the trenches to the other. A few 
whispered words from officers to men—a tightening grip 
on rifle and self—a low command—they’re gone —over 
the top! 

* * * 

The objective gained, back came Ted, who had seen Ben 
fall at his side. He found him—still smiling. Ted’s heart 
was bursting. He saw that Ben—good old Ben—his 
Buddy, was “Going West.” He knelt beside him and 
took his hand. “Ben,” said he, “before I take your last 
message to your wife, tell me why you have been so happy, 

83 


since leaving home, in spite of all the horror’s of this ter¬ 
rible War. And Ben replied, still smiling: “Because, in 
all those happy months with you, old pal, I did not have to 
take Pekee on the roof, nor on the street at night, dodging 
my friends, pausing, hither and yon, accursed by many— 
and despised by all.” 

So this! This explains all! . . . Ted’s eyes blazed as 
he fingered his big service automatic, then rose—and with a 
great effort, walked silently away . . . forever. 

The War is over . . . Ben got well . . . He is back 
on the job. And he has quit smiling. 


s 4 


’TWAS EVER THUS 


In these happy piping days of Peace 
We nominate some gink, 

Then ballyrag the other side 
And lay ’em out in pink 

We show ’em up as highwaymen, 
Wire-tappers, crooks and worse; 

And for their reputations, folks, 

We never care a curse. 

And when the fight is over, 

And the dead ones are interred, 

And our I-dol of the Pee-Pul 
Proves a very “taking” bird. 

We just have to grin and bear it, 
Take our medicine like men, 

And at the next election. 

Do the same damn thing again. 


ACTION 


As you journey thru life you often will find 
That you haven’t a week to make up your mind. 

Quick action is called for, you can’t hesitate, 

Or you’ll find to your sorrow that you are too late— 

Get busy. 

For instance, your walking along the main street, 

When a vision of beauty you happen to meet, 

With a slow little smile and “Hello” in her eye, 

She’s not walking fast but she’s passing you by— 

Your move. 

With a large bunch of flowers still dripping with dew 
That put a large crimp in your scant revenue, 

You call on your girl, find another guy there, 

See her fixing his tie and arranging his hair— 

Check out. 

Should you drop in a place where millionaires eat, 

With just enough coin for a lunch without meat, 

When a girl from your home town comes slowly in view, 
And with a glad cry, makes a bee-line for you— 

I pass. 


If a guy with a grievance and blood in his eye, 

Should roll up his sleeves and swear you must die, 

And sez with your carcase he’ll wipe up thee floor, 

Then on turning around you see a wide open door— 

Why linger? 


86 


Have you had quite enough of those sanctified slops 
They permit us to drink when smelled by the Cops, 

Are you sore when they frisk you, get your bottle and goat, 
Why not end this damn farce, by just learning to vote? 

No? Yes? 


87 


SEEMS ODD 


It takes some men years and years to destroy a small 
package of letters—with a faint perfume to ’em. Often 
there is a Dance Card among them, with a dinky little 
pencil tied to it. Like as not there is an envelope with 
some dried flower leaves in it. 

Most always there is a stem, too. No! those are not 
foreign stamps on the letters—they are U. S. But they 
don’t issue that style anymore. These are not new letters. 
Some men don’t ever destroy ’em. No, never. These men 
are not “Sissies.” I wouldn’t go so far as to say that— 
to them. 

They’re regular fellers—work every day ’en everything. 
Yep! 


88 


CALL A HALT! 


Get this, Men and Women of America: You are not 
fighting God or Government when you get together and use 
your tremendous power to restore and prevent further 
desecration of our blood bought Constitution. 


s 9 


WHAT’S IN A NAME 


Well, I’m really flabergasted 
Since reading in the news 
How they’ve gone and decorated 

The little Wop who shined my shoes 
On the corner last November, 

And the Sheeny o’er the way 
Has been cited for promotion 
For his valor in the fray. 

And that Nurse the Frenchmen honored 
With a diamond studded cross. 

Was just a student typist 
And a trial to her boss. 

While the kid who saved his Captain, 
Who had fallen in the scrap, 

Owned the finest yacht in Newport, 

And half the railroads on the map. 

And just think—Old Niemyer’s Heinie. 

Got the Cross upon the field 
When he brought in eighty Germans, 
Whom unaided he made yield. 

And a Mick who was a plumber 
Over on the Old West Side, 

Put the kibosh on a Gun Crew 
Just a little ’fore he died. 

So you see, a Wop, a Sheeny, 

A Heinie, Mick, and dub. 

Along with Percy Oswald, 

A rich man’s fighting cub, 


90 


Held their own—and something over 
With the swellest of the swell, 

And left a name in Europe. 

That will linger for a spell. 




91 


SIMILIA SIMILIBUS 


She is a beauty, with slender white hands, 

And her eyes hath the blue o’ the sea, 

Her slow, sweet smile is a thing so rare, 

But ah! it played havoc with me. 

He is a man with a frame of steel, 

And his eyes hath a searching stare, 

With ragged raiment and scanty food, 

And grey in his unkempt hair. 

This twain never met on this mundane sphere, 
And are not the same blood—or strain, 

But at gold digging he, is away up in G , 

And that goes for this—beautiful jane. 


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